


Let bygones be bygones

by xagentofchaos



Series: Steter drabbles [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Forgivness, M/M, Steter - Freeform, mentions of season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:24:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xagentofchaos/pseuds/xagentofchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is apologizing to Peter for throwing the Molotov cocktail at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let bygones be bygones

**Author's Note:**

> I rewatched s1 for the 100th time and I was still so mad for everyone to think that Peter was the evil guy. Trauma does things to people, stop shaming.

His legs were shaking throughout those minutes (or years) he was sitting on a chair; waiting, waiting and waiting. Biting his thumb, fiddling with his phone, brought some attention to him; especially when his heartrate was on maximum speed. _Dun dun dun dun dun dun_. It was like he was falling apart; breaking into thousands of palpitating pieces. Vibrating on the chair; legs like jelly. He hadn’t been this nervous in… in never. 

The wolves that were in the same room glanced at him; brows furrowed in deep wrinkles between their eyes. He was sitting with his front turned to the door; waiting, waiting and waiting. At home, he had been practicing on the exact words he would say; how he’d say it and just how slow to really increase enough emotion for it to not be too sappy. Although he could almost tell by now, that it wouldn’t turn out the way he expected. 

“Are you okay, bro?” 

He snapped from his thought, staring at Scott with a feverish expression. His cuter self stared back, jaw twisted in a weird but unique angle. If he hadn’t been completely neutral towards Scotty, he’d be drowning in those adorable brown eyes. He managed a short smile.

“Of course.”

“We can smell your pre nervous breakdown,” Scotty murmured, voice low in a comforting haze. 

“Cool,” Stiles sighed. He didn’t know what to say. 

“So…” Scott dragged a chair closer to his and sat down; elbows resting on his knees. “What’s up?”

“I just-“he paused, doing racing speed thinking through his mind, picking words to say. “I need to talk to someone.” 

“Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sighed again. It did matter but not to Scott. 

“Is it Lydia?” Stiles turned to Scott, his brows furrowed now. And then his eyes widened when Scott winked. _He winked_. Why did he wink? 

“Don’t do that,” Stiles grimaced and Scott snickered. “And no. It’s not Lydia.” 

Scott gave up but he still smirked when dunking Stiles’ shoulder with his hand. Whatever he was thinking, he was wrong. He left Stiles to continue shaking, staring at the door with an intense gaze. He wanted it to open but some parts of him didn’t. It would be embarrassing, humiliating and probably deadly. To him anyway. 

“You’re late,” Derek muttered behind his back and Stiles opened his mouth, about to ask him who he was talking to when the door fucking opened. 

“I needed my beauty sleep,” Peter grinned, stepping inside. Stiles’ mouth went dry. _It’s now or never._ He’d been planning how to tell him for months now; into the most minimalistic detail. But having the wolf in the same room as him, all the words are gone from his mind. It’s completely blank. But he needed to talk to him, needed to do it now before it was too late. 

“Peter,” he choked out in a half whisper but he knew the older could hear in anyway. So could the rest of the group. Peter turned to him, eyeing his trembling body. “I-“ _Damn to his stutters._ “I need to talk to you.” It came out in haste. But he could still see the screws rotating in Peter’s brain. “I mean I’ve been thinking about this for a while but hadn’t had time to tell you, so I was just thinking we could talk now so that I get it over with, you know.” He had been stumbling through the words, stuttering worse than ever. 

“Listen, you’re adorable and I would love to give you the night of your life.”

Blank. Stiles mouth fell open. The wolf was smirking at him, eyes glistering blue with interest. _Wow, how do you breathe again? What is air?_

“N-no, no, yes, I mean. Sure. No! That’s not what I wanted-“he took a deep breath. “Please, can we just talk?” He stood up and nodded to the door, but had to hold a tight grip on the chair to not fall down onto the ground. Peter was still smirking at him but his eyes weren’t in his werewolf blue although they were still shining with interest. He followed Stiles without another question.

He made sure to close the door behind him but he knew all the wolves inside would listen. Just like he wanted. 

“Before you came I knew how to start but it’s all gone now,” he murmured. Peter didn’t say anything, he just waited; arms crossed. “Okay.” _Deep breaths, deep breaths._ “I want to say sorry.” He didn’t dare to look up at Peter’s burning gaze. “For throwing that Molotov cocktail at you.” 

Dead silence. 

All the regrets had been building up in his mind for ages, quivering. Until it finally toppled: right now. There’s a distinct and familiar taste in his mouth; salty tears are dancing their ways down his cheek. He’s still not watching Peter so he can’t tell what kind of emotion there is on the other man. But it doesn’t matter. He’s humiliated enough. 

“I mean,” his voice is thick and unsteady. “When I did it, it just felt right. But afterwards, when you died, I felt horrible. The others think that what they did was right because your murdered people but I- I couldn’t think like that. I can’t justify helping Derek killing you because you did what you had to do. I’m not saying that killing is right, obviously it’s not, but I still get it. I mean, I don’t get it because I have no idea how you felt. But if someone had murdered my mom I would’ve tried to seek revenge as well.” He swallows the tears but more are flowing down. “I know the others are listening now and that’s fine. This apology is for you but I need to say something to them as well.” He raised his voice. “If you guys think you’re better than Peter, you’re wrong. You’re actually worse. I am worse. Peter was in the fire, he experienced it, he was in a coma for six years because of it. _We_ played with his trauma, we made him re-experience it and that’s fucking terrible. _We_ are the true monsters, not him.” 

Still silence. More tears. He was about to just sneak pass the wolf and leave. But he felt a hand on his cheek; fingers that wiped away the tears that burned like acid. And then warm lips on his. Stiles shook, trembling violently. Peter held him, kissed him softly. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cried into the man’s lips. “I’m so sorry for having you go through it again. I’m sorry.” 

“Schh,” Peter murmured, stroking his jaw. “Let bygones be bygones.” 

Stiles sniffed and nodded. It felt like deadweight had been lifted off his shoulders and he was floating in Peter’s lips.


End file.
